“Ooh, how about this thing right here?” Kimmy giggled, pointing at a glistening glass display containing a rusted musket, with a tattered American flag draped around its barrel, and a variety of vague wild beast shapes etched into the wooden handle. “Why don’t we talk about that for the project?”

                “Because the project’s about the Emancipation Proclamation, not guns,” Amy announced with a belittling chuckle, giving her considerably shorter friend’s strawberry blonde locks a childish tousle. The towering tanned MVP squinted through the translucent barrier, shaking her head. “Plus the animal pictures on it look dumb.”

                “Come on. We’re walking again,” Sharon informed them, suddenly appearing in the reflection of the display from behind, her silvery hair gleaming despite the dimness of the museum wing’s lighting arrangement. She swiveled back on her heel, glancing only momentarily at Suzanne Clark’s face before moving her gaze down to the miniscule occupant of the woman’s hand.

                Peter pondered whether he’d ever in his life felt quite so simultaneously secure and warm while also feeling genuinely like a needle might become buried in his neck via someone’s gaze. Despite the initial embarrassment of having his mother carry him around for the day at the freshman class’s American history museum field trip as a personal chaperone, after they’d spent the past thirty minutes meandering the pristine polished halls with Sharon, Amy, and Kimmy, he was quite content with Suzanne’s thumb being wrapped protectively over his shoulders. In fact, he even found himself hugging his arms around it, tugging his mother’s finger harder into his chest, which the doting parent was only too happy to silently oblige as she continued at a stately pace behind the trio to the next portion of the exhibit.

                Of course, there was a definite downside to bringing up the rear of the group. All three girls took every available opportunity to peep back at their five-inch classmate swaddled in his mommy’s hand, and with every half-smirk or twinkled eye, Peter felt as though he was shrinking even smaller, disappearing steadily under the pale boughs of Suzanne’s feminine digits and sinking into the valley of her palm, where he might accidentally become lost in a fleshy crease. If nothing else, it would allow him to escape their condescending glances.

                It was all right for Sharon and company to see him in Erica’s hand every day at school, but somehow, appearing in his mother’s cradling palm like a coddled infant, unable to so much as walk for himself in a foreign location, Peter could tell he was rapidly losing what limited schoolyard cred he’d accumulated over the past several weeks of school, if any at all.

                Ever since his date with Lisa six days before, he’d been mercifully spared from the shadow of Amy’s looming hand or Sharon’s flinty accusations posed as questions, but somehow, he could feel the temporary social barrier he’d built up with his courage literally melting away into the warmth of his mother’s skin.

                He’d caught notice of his redheaded best-friend-and-maybe-more being shepherded behind the rest of her own project group by a different chaperone, almost too adorably dwarfed by them all. It was bizarre for Peter to see, really, when he remembered what a comparative mountain she was in closer proximity. She’d snuck concerned glances over her shoulder every time she saw him turn a corner of the marbled halls with their three biggest opponents trailblazing ahead, but the boy managed to reassure her with a smile and a wave from his parent’s hand.

                The next room was adjacent to the exit and much better lit, the entire geography of the space filled with interconnected tables displaying prominent American cities at the time of the Revolutionary War in delicately crafted miniature. Foam houses and paper trees were clustered together, with painted plastic soldiers dotting the felt landscape. Peering down at it from Suzanne’s fingers, Peter noted that the town was actually scaled even smaller than himself, and felt a puzzlingly goofy sense of momentary superiority over the extended dioramas, almost devolving into a chuckle.

                At least some people were smaller than him.

                “Peter,” Suzanne whispered as she brought her son up closer to her lips. “I… need to use the restroom. I’m sure there will be a place on the sink where I can just-”

                “No, wait,” he gulped, realizing how staggeringly uncool it would appear to be taken to the bathroom with his parent and actually made to wait on her to finish her business like her personal lap dog. He knew this was lightyears away from what his safety-minded mother intended, but to the trio now standing at attention behind them and eavesdropping on the awkward conversation, he knew exactly how it would look. And he couldn’t have that, not when he was so close to escaping his day-one reputation. “I can stay here. It’ll be fine.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yes.”

                “Because it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I just want to make sure you’re-”

                “Mom, I can stay by myself for a few minutes. What’s the big deal?” Peter crowed, and immediately felt bad for coming so close to growling at his parent who’d taken a morning off from work just so he could experience a field trip with his class. Unfortunately, he already felt the sharp spotlight of Sharon’s eyes on his scalp, and there was no backing down. “I mean… I’ll be fine. Seriously.”

                “Okay,” Suzanne sighed, slightly taken aback by her child’s muted outburst, and turned her face up toward his much-taller classmates. “Would one of you girls be okay giving Peter a place to sit while I’m gone?”

                “Sure!” Amy piped instantly.

                “Uh…” Peter nearly choked. He’d been counting on an alternative to diving back into one of the trio’s hands, especially minus his mother’s supervision.

                “Like you said, just for a few minutes, honey. Unless you’d rather come with me?” Suzanne offered, clearly hoping he’d changed his mind.

                “Nope. Nope, I’m good here,” he corrected just as quickly, gnawing on his lower lip to prevent himself from stuttering as he watched Amy’s right hand, already impressively scaled even from this distance, drawing rapidly closer, reminding Peter of exactly how insignificant he was next to those bronzed fingers. Her palm flattened expectantly, bumping her thumb up next to Suzanne’s.

                The boy couldn’t help but gulp having his mother’s hand lined up with the freshman amazon’s. He’d always imagined his parent’s hand to be on the large side, easily winning out for space within his household, but suddenly with Amy’s expansive tanned palm and powerful fingers splayed out by comparison, Suzanne’s was the loser.

                Not wanting to either frighten his mother unduly or give a single shred of emotional power to Amy, the boy boarded the lanky athlete’s firm fingers and clambered into her palm, where he took a seat.

                “Be back in just a minute, everyone!” Suzanne promised.

                “We’ll wait for you!” Amy cooed sweetly.

                Peter watched his mother power-walking off toward the lobby, probably nervous about every second she left him apart from her in such a massive place, and gulped silently, turning back up to Amy’s boldly grinning face above.

                “Finally alone,” Sharon stated with unnecessary coldness from Amy’s right, tilting her head as she gazed into her crony’s cupped palm.

                “Yep,” Peter said, swallowing the stutter before it could escape.

                “I’ve been thinking,” the silver-haired vixen began. Immediately Amy and Kimmy’s attentions were captured and, reticently, so was Peter’s. She peeked back over her shoulder at the miniature village construction atop the tabletops. “For our project, we’re going to make something like that.”

                “Ooh, I like it!” Kimmy squealed

                “Of course you do,” Sharon said with a roll of her eyes.

                “Sounds fun,” Amy agreed with a nod. She brought her hand higher, elevating Peter closer to those dark, hungry eyes. “A tiny little town. Tiny little houses, tiny little trees, tiny… tiny, tiny little people.”

                “That’s… logical,” Peter managed. He coughed up a smile. “It would look funny to have gigantic people and tiny trees, after all.”

                The boy forced out a laugh at his own joke. Kimmy followed along with him in genuine chortles, while Amy’s upper lip curled with an acknowledging half-smile. Sharon only remained with her gaze fixed upon Peter.

                “I bet shortstuff here knows all about that kind of thing,” Sharon commented curtly. She waved a hand, beckoning the pair to follow her back toward the white tables housing the intricately crafted village. They followed without pause. “Don’t you?”

                “Uhh… what do you mean?”

                “Don’t you live in a tiny house, with your own tiny things?” Amy posed. “That was what I heard.”

                “Um-”

                “Oh, that would be so cute!” Kimmy squealed, clasping her pale hands together and flashing her brace-clad front teeth in a broad smile. “What kind of house is it, Peter?”

                “It’s not a-”

                “Can we see it?” Amy murmured. Her fingers curled in closer. “I want to see your tiny house.”

                “I don’t, um, live in a tiny house,” Peter explained. “Just a normal one.”

                “Uh-huh,” Sharon replied, crossing her arms and raising a platinum eyebrow as her line of sight flashed from the village and back to Peter in Amy’s steadily closing hand. “Still, I’m sure you could find your way around in a place like this.”

                The five-inch freshman, partially in an effort to ignore Amy’s increasingly closely clawed fingertips, rotated around on the padded palm and peered down at the village.

                “I… guess so?”

                “So it’s settled,” Sharon said. “We’ll build a tiny town for our project.”

                “Yes!” Kimmy cried, her strawberry-blonde pigtails flopping over her shoulders.

                Still struggling to grasp what, exactly, building a model town had to do with the Emancipation Proclamation, Peter eventually decided the connection was probably as inconsequential to Sharon as were his feelings of general brow-sweating apprehension around her.

                “But not too much of one,” Amy piped up, furrowing her brow. “I’m about to start having practice after school, like, everyday. Plus training, then away games start.”

                “We’ll make our tiny town a really tiny town,” Kimmy giggled. “And we’ll make it ever better than this one!” She reached out, flicking one of the modeled bushes with her stubby thumb, and sent it tumbling into the engraved street. She sucked in a gasp of surprise.

                “Way to go, Kims,” Amy laughed. By this time, her hand had ascended near to the level of her chin, letting the warmth of her every semi-moist exhalation waft over Peter as she fenced him in with her tall digits, but suddenly it was lowering again, as though an elevator cord had been snapped. The boy flattened himself to the girl’s palm in a necessary embrace, until her fingers were spilling out over the tabletop again. “Why don’t you take a look for us? You know, be our expert on tiny things.”

                “Right,” Peter gawked, just grateful for the chance to disembark from the girl’s roller coaster of an appendage, and hopped aboard the white surface containing the village. Hearing Kimmy clear her throat expectantly from behind, and feeling Sharon’s silver-bullet irises trained like a sniper’s scope on his scalp, Peter strolled into the miniature street laid before him.

                Though he wasn’t exactly keen on being the “expert on tiny things” of the group, given that Sharon had seemingly set their project parameters in stone, it seemed plausible he could actually be of use in constructing the thing. After all, he did indeed have some experience with building implements to aid him in his daily life, such as ladders and staircases to move around his bedroom, or utensils carved for use during mealtimes. Of his limited talents at five inches tall in a world build for people exponentially larger, this was one he could actually claim as his own.

                Plus, the boy couldn’t help but enjoy the perspective he held right now. As the tiny painted population filling the fabric landscape of the town only came in at a height of around one inch, below Peter’s knee, he found himself in the unique position of feeling quite enormous.

                “Take a look around, Peter!”  Kimmy encouraged, bearing that same cheesy grin again.

                “I’ll watch and make sure none of those fake police people come walking in,” Amy whispered.

                “What are you waiting for, shortstuff?” Sharon inquired.

                Shrugging, Peter left the road, padding over the spongy material acting as false grass and approached one of the houses. Even these just barely stood at his shoulders. He patted the rooftop, with its papery shingles, realizing how brittle it was, and it occurred to him he was probably strong enough to break through it. A novel thought, to be sure.

                The houses stretched on down the imaginary block and toward a fountain, with carved plastic water spurting from its top. Peter regarded it with a reactionary smile, noting how the detail of the city wasn’t quite as intricate further away from the edges. Sure, he was being told what his position was in this class project, but that didn’t mean he could do a hell of a job on it. And he was pretty sure he could do better than this.

                “Do you think we could build one like it?” Kimmy pressed from beyond.

                “Definitely a lot fewer houses,” Amy scoffed. “Some of us have places to be.”

                “Fewer is all right,” Sharon said. “But I’m sure shortstuff here can help manage something that won’t disappoint us. Can’t you?”

                “I think so, yeah,” Peter shrugged, sporting a smile, even with the gazes of his partners all upon him from above, shattering the illusion of his own higher stature above the tiny city with their relatively Godzilla-esque proportions.

                “Hey, one of the security dudes is walking this way,” Amy hissed, leaning over the table, her shadow drowning the entire block in momentary darkness. She tapped her fingers against the edge of the table. “C’mon back before we get in trouble and they have to put you in tiny-person-museum jail.”

                Peter nodded, unable to help but notice the amusement in the girl’s voice at this prospect. The few minutes wasn’t enough for how much fun he was secretly having. The freshman purposefully took a slightly longer route out of the miniature neighborhood, stepping into the artificial wild landscape just past the rows of picket-fence houses. He threaded between the trees, running his hands along the steps and tramping across the rubber stones of a paper creek, then tramped up the height of a hill, feeling his feet sag slightly into the foamy material, until his head could pass above the heights of every single molded tree.

                He smirked, observing his temporary dominion for just another instant.

                “That’s enough playing King of the Hill, I think,” Sharon remarked. “Come back now.”

                “Yep, got it, sorry,” Peter mumbled, once again compelled by the girl’s softly-spoken demand, and tramped back toward the edge of the diminutive town, as well as his illusion of size. It wouldn’t do at all to have his parent worry over literally nothing, even if he was breaking a few museum rules right now, namely “no walking on the exhibits.”

                “Riiiight here,” Amy whispered to her puny group partner down below, her fingernails tapping at the edge again. “I’ve got you covered.”

                “Hey, I want a turn!” Kimmy grumbled, elbowing her much-taller friend in the hip as she laid her own hand flat down next to Amy’s. The shortest girl stomped a foot in mock-protest, her flip-flop smacking against her bare heel. She batted her eyelashes, gritting her metal-clasped chompers. “Pleeeease, Peter? Can I hold you for a minute?”

                “Y-Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine with me,” Peter said, averting his gaze away from both girls as he hopped in the direction of the significantly less tanned palm, glossed with some mildly anxious sweat in the creases. Kimmy didn’t exactly project much of an image of strength or steadiness, but she at least appeared eager to give Peter a lift, rather than breathe on him like Amy. He padded onto the girl’s fingertips without a second thought, making for her pale center, which rose up from the table inch by inch.

                “Aih!” Kimmy chirped in pain. She winced, a rumble shooting up through her body from the floor and jostling Peter’s head into the heel of her clammy hand. He could feel her fingers tipping around him, giving way to personal preservation.

                “Hey!” he gaped aloud. The boy’s legs were thrown over the edge, his arms flinging clumsily in attempt to wrap around Kimmy’s thumb, but it was for naught as he tumbled over the edge, back toward the edge of the tabletop, which thankfully was still in reach.

                “Better be careful there, shortstuff,” Sharon stated at a measured pace as her hand appeared at once between Peter and the hard surface, her palm open and inviting, her fingers curled and prepared to receive him into her clutches. As her digits clamped around Peter with just enough firmness to keep his suddenly-trembling frame in check, the girl blinked, turning over to Kimmy: “I can’t believe you dropped him.”

                “I didn’t drop him!” Kimmy protested. She leaned against the town table, having pried her foot out of the flip-flop and cradling it against her thigh, kneading her toes between her fingers. “Not on purpose! Amy stepped on me.”

                “It was an accident, honest,” Amy said, her eyes rolling up toward the ceiling as she planted her slender fingers on her hips. “I was just moving away to give you room.”

                “No you weren’t. You just didn’t want me to hold him!”

                “Maybe you’re just not cut out for handling little boys, Kimmy,” Sharon suggested imperiously, lifting her confined fist up toward her hand and peering in at Peter between her fingers. “Don’t worry now, shortstuff. I’ve got you.”

                “Y-Yep,” he gulped, wedged awkwardly against the vixen’s tender palm flesh on all sides like a full-body vice. Strangely, he actually felt colder the closer her skin squeezed him in, until even his bones shivered.

                “What do you say?” Sharon pressed.

                “Um… thanks,” he muttered, bowing his head as he felt the girl’s fingers closing in tighter around him.

                “Sorry, Peter,” Kimmy said. “I didn’t mean to, um, make you lose your balance.”

                “Make him lose his balance? You dropped him!” Amy retorted at a higher volume.

                “You WHAT?” Suzanne balked, materializing in the broad-arched doorway and rejoining the group at a panicked sprint.

                Peter’s stomach, if it wasn’t already triple-knotted from the pure spine-pricking sensation of Sharon’s fingers encaged around him, managed to add just one more twist-tie.